


And So It Is

by jb_slasher



Category: Football RPF
Genre: (He's) Like A Glove?, Infidelity, Let's Have Some Tea Shall We?, Liverpool, M/M, Not That Kind Of Tea Party, Self Pity, Transfer Speak, house arrest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-08
Updated: 2006-03-08
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:31:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jb_slasher/pseuds/jb_slasher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sami worries about Steven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And So It Is

He knows I didn't want to hurt him. He knows he was asking for it. He _knows_. And still, he blames me for it. He's the one who wants to go to parties all the time. He's the one who never comes home before four o'clock in the bloody morning. He's the one going places all the time. He's always in a rush, going somewhere to do something, always stuff on his mind, always using those brain cells to the max. You'd think partying is a simple thing to do: just go with the rhythm. But not with him: he's always thinking, he just can't switch his brain off, _ever_.

He lost one of his gloves last time. Not that it really matters; he's got plenty of gloves. But what if one of these days he loses himself? I don't want that to happen. He's free to lose a glove or a shoe or even his beloved red coat but I won't allow him losing himself out there. One day he'll wink at the wrong guy and that will be that: he'll be out there, gone forever, never coming back. Time will pass and I'm going to be here waiting for him, and he will never show. He will never come back and tell me he did some traveling, did things he never did before like eat frog legs. Three hours later after telling me everything he won't tell me he's come to stay because he won't come back.

I don't feel like dancing; I'm not proud of what I did. But I had to do it. I couldn't get him to stop otherwise. It was ruining him, consuming him, that life. I had to restrain him, had to get a hold of him, had to get _through_ to him. So I didn't let him go. I told him that it was no good, that it had to stop. I didn't care what insults he came up with and shouted them at my face, I only wanted him to stay and stay _safe. Why can't you see I'm doing this for your own good?_ How can you make someone realize that something's not good for them, that it will destroy them eventually?

The thing was that he _wanted_ that life to destroy him. He wanted to be used, wanted to go with strangers and let them make him their sex toy, let them spank him and torture him and gag him. He was almost hysterical because I refused him this thing that he was used to doing, that he was used to _needing_. It was a habit he needed to get rid off, a habit I wasn't even sure I wanted to know the origin of. Some say you can't force people to do something against their will with this stuff. But I needed to at least try. I couldn't stand it any longer: I just couldn't keep on watching him go out with all sorts of product in his hair and hear him come home every single night, up those steps and into the bed, next to me. When did he stop caring about _me_?

It's selfish, I know. But I love him. And I want to know he's safe. I don't want him wandering the streets searching for other people to _fuck_ him. Maybe I'm making up excuses for my actions. But I want to at least _try_ to give him those things he gets from those other people. I want him to know he can ask me rather than go out and hurt me by asking those strangers instead. Or are the strangers the _point_? I wish I could help. I wish I could understand him. I wish he could talk to me. All this time and he hasn't said anything. I'm not letting him out of the house, because he'll go back, I know he will.

I wish I had faith, in me, in _him_. But my hurt has consumed me and I hardly have any strength left to help him. What good am I to him if I don't have the strength to go on with what I've started? He's started spending more time outside in the backyard, sitting under the tree there, with the wind in his hair and sadness in his eyes. At least then he looks calm, but despite it he will explode soon: it's bound to happen. And when it happens, he's like an animal trapped into a corner: he wants to scare me to back off but it isn't happening and that makes him agitated. He can hide behind that mask of rage and hatred but inside he's just scared and tired. My poor love, why can't you let me help you?

Today he was calm. He came inside and found me sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea. He poured himself a cup too and sat down at the table across from me. He looked so small, just a boy of twenty-five, sitting there with his tea and looking at the paper I was reading. I handed it to him but he shook his head and turned his eyes to his tea. I was afraid to say anything; just saying his name seemed too much since even pronouncing it made his anger surface.

"I'm sorry, Sami," Stevie said and glanced at me. He immediately turned his eyes back to his tea but I could see that he meant it. It was in the way he held his trembling hands around the teacup; it was in the way his gaze bore into the cup, as if he was ashamed; it was the way he held himself as still as possible, as if he were a statue, as if he wasn't breathing at all.

The other day I found a letter under the bed. He must have somehow dropped it. It was an offer from Real Madrid. He'd lost Mikey to that club. Was Stevie planning to follow him there? I felt devastated just by the thought of Stevie leaving. I sat next to the bed – _our_ bed – and cried. I could have screamed my lungs out because of just that thought because it made me feel lonely, just that thought, that _possibility_. _He can't do this to me!_

"I don't want you to leave."

He must have seen me then; he didn't look at all surprised, he just looked so _guilty_ , like he was actually going off and leaving me right here and now. Why bother to wait? He had the contract, he could just march off to sign it and he'd be out of here.

"I'm not leaving."

He looked me in the eye and said that. I was sure he was going to smash my heart after breaking it bit by bit for so long. Instead, he made it whole again with one sentence, with three words. I knew there was a reason why I loved this boy, but so far I'd only hoped, wished because I couldn't remember it anymore. But then I _knew_. He was committed, to the club, to football, to _me_. He would never leave this place.

Neither would I. I knew that as well as I knew my own mind and I would have been crazy to want to leave this place. Though I was still hurt, I knew Stevie would be all right. Stevie would stay.


End file.
